Turmoil
by retired-fangirl
Summary: Light sinks to the floor, his breath coming in silent gasps now. His mind screams; he can't go on like this. Set during the Yotsuba arc.
1. Beginning

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Death Note. If I did, L would not be dead, nor Mello and Matt.

Warnings: This contains self injury. It could be triggering, so read with caution.

EDIT: I'm such an anal freak. I caught minute errors in the timeline, so I had to fix them.

...

Chapter 1: Beginning

_Click!_

_Black, slick metal: a gun. "Shut up!" A growl._

_Eyes widen, taking in his father's face, warped into insanity. "Dad!"_

"_Light. Both of us are murderers. We'll meet in hell."_

_He hears Misa's screams dimly, as if underwater. His vision tunnels; he looks into the barrel of the gun. Time ticks backwards. He can't think. His heart rams against his chest. _

_His father's glare deepens, a tear wells in his eyes. His index finger hovers, trembling, on the trigger. Another click as his father puts more pressure on the trigger._

Light wakes with the sound a gun going off in his head. He lunges into a sitting position on the bed. His wrist chafes against metal.

"Three," Light glances to the other end of the bed where L sits in front of a laptop. L holds up three fingers. Light exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding. That's right: Ryuzaki, the fake execution, Kira and his imprisonment. Light swallows down bile, before trying to converse with the detective.

"What?" Light's eye twitches at the quiver in his voice.

L jumps from where he had been setting cross legged, twirling on one foot to land a few inches from Light in his usual kneeling stance. Almost nose to nose, L stares into Light's eyes. "Light-kun has woken up three times from nightmares over the past week."

Light ignores the heat rising in his cheeks. He scoffs, averting his gaze from L's. "I'm fine."

L's eyes bore into Light's. "I don't think so."

Light bites his lip. His arms itch, a strange sensation. As he tries to muddle his way through L's mind games, he scratches his arm. "I'm sorry if I interrupted you."

"Yes, I suppose you are."

Light digs his fingernail into his forearm under his night shirt. "What does that mean?" he grinds out between clenched teeth. His head aches and his arms itch.

L turns back to his laptop as Light's fingernail cuts into the skin beneath his shirt. The pain in his head lessons and the dream melts away like a chocolate candy left in direct sunlight.

...

Light wakes up to the sun shining the next morning, the beginning of his first full day at the new investigation headquarters. L stares into the laptop, still seated cross legged. Light wonders about the oddly normal sitting position. Before he can ask, L throws his head back looking at Light upside down.

"Good. You're up."

"Good morning Ryuzaki," Light says as L unclasps him from the chain. Light unbuttons his night shirt, as he crosses the room for a fresh shirt. As he tugs off his sleeve, the fabric catches and a pinprick of pain blossoms on his arm. A drop of blood stains his sleeve. Oh yeah… Light pauses to analyze the small indent on his arm.

"Are you okay?" L notices the small cut.

"I must've cut myself sometime," Light says in what he hopes is an unconcerned tone. He hastily pulls on a plain, dark, long sleeved tee shirt. His heart rate slows back to normal as L starts typing a message on the laptop.

...

Dressed, teeth and hair brushed, and face washed, Light walks into the main conference room with L just as Soichiro, Mogi, and Aizawa enter. One camera records Matsuda's hassle with the buildings security system. Another camera displays Misa sleeping peacefully in her quarters.

"Morning, Dad, Aizawa-san, Mogi-san" Light greets the three.

"Morning." L props himself into his chair where a steaming cup of coffee and an oversized bowl of sugar cubes is already laid out.

"Ryuzaki, Light," Soichiro says as he grabs a cup of black coffee for himself from the coffee machine. His voice softens as he utters Light's name, and his eyes lighten. "You're mother packed some clothes for you."

Light notices the suitcase in the corner. He nods. "What, what did you tell Mom and Sayu?" he asks tentatively.

"Your family is under the impression you're investigating the Kira case," L says. He drops a sugar cube into his coffee as he utters each word. Light cringes at the sludgy sucrose mass that used to be coffee. He fixes himself a cup of coffee with cream as L sips his. Light chooses to ignore the chewing sounds L makes as he attempts to drink his partially solid drink.

"About time!" Aizawa exclaims as Matsuda enters the investigation room with his pants draped on his arm. Light merely raises an eyebrow and L ignores the detective, as if it is perfectly normal for a man to wander the work area in just a shirt and underpants.

Matsuda rubs at his head and smiles. "I had some trouble," he says as he pulls on his pants.

...

By midmorning, L kneels in his chair, facing backwards away from the computer whilst Light tries to find a link between the newest Kira deaths, but his mind keeps spinning in circles. He peeks at his father from the corner of his eye. With each glance, the pressure in his chest tightens and he can't quite suck in a full breath. He drums his fingers on the table as he looks at the computer screen without absorbing any information.

"Light, are you alright?" Soichiro's voice breaks the near silence of mechanical murmurs. Light tenses.

"Um, yes. I think I need to take a break, is all." He stands up, throwing a glance at L in the process.

L stares back for a moment before also standing and leading Light out of the room. "Does Light-kun want to see Amane-san?"

Light shakes his head, his thoughts back with his father and the uncomfortable pressure in his chest. He wants to be alone. "I just need a toilet break, Ryuzaki." He does not, but it is one of the few activities L will grant him privacy for.

"Two minutes," L warns as Light closes the door, separating himself from the detectives peering gaze. Light sinks to the floor, his breath coming in silent gasps now. His mind screams; he can't go on like this. He feels moisture collect at his eyes.

"One minute," L's voice calls. Light stands quickly. He flushes the toilet to prove his innocence. In the process he bumps his arm against the edge of the sink. Pain. He blinks. He rolls up his sleeves with one hand then turns on the faucet to drown out sounds and to keep up with the pretext of using the toilet for its intended purpose. He scratches at his arm, harder and rougher—more desperate than last night. He keeps at it until L tells him he has ten seconds left. Light glances down at his arm, which is now covered in red scratches. He shuts off the water and lets his sleeve fall to his wrist and the doorknob clicks open.

Light turns to look at L. L cocks his head. Light holds out his arm, the one without the scratches, and L closes the handcuff over his wrist again. The two head back to the investigation room. Light smiles at his father's concerned look, a silent reassurance. And at that moment, with his arm burning under his sleeve, Light is okay.


	2. Disclosure

Disclaimer: Owning Death Note: I would not be a poor, broke college student, yes?

A/N: Oh my god, people are reading this! This story has been spinning around my brain since 2007. I now finally have the courage to attempt writing L's voice. I hope I am doing okay.

…

Chapter 2: Disclosure

"_Shut up."_

"_Dad!"_

"_Light. Both of us are murderers, we'll meet in hell."_

"_Stop!"_

Pain jars him from sleep as gun fire bangs in his head. Light lurches forward on the bed, before remembering L sitting at the other end. He slowly removes his hand from underneath his sleeve so as to not alert L of his behavior. Light composes a serene façade as L notices his reflection in the mirror glow of the laptop screen.

L quirks an eyebrow and releases Light's wrist from the handcuff, only offering a warning of "Two minutes," as Light retreats to the toilet connected to their sleeping quarters. Light slumps over the sink letting the mask shatter. He lifts his sleeve to stare at his arm. The scratches are as angry red as they were the last time he scratched and the burning sting wipes the dreams from his consciousness. He can breathe again.

A knock on the door. Had L called out for him? Light lets his shirt sleeve fall and walks back into the bedroom. His arm stings every so often; the scratches barely hurt anymore. Light sits down on top of the comforter. He flops down on the bed and suppresses a sigh. His chest twinges.

"For Light-kun." L pushes a glass at Light.

"Warm milk?" Light questions as he grasps the heated cup.

"With honey. I had Watari bring it up," L says.

Light almost drops the glass in surprise. He wonders how long L had let him stay in the toilet for Watari to have brought the drink up. Even more so, he wonders why L had acted almost…kindly? Not that L ever speaks in a less-than-polite vernacular, but for L to go out of his way for him, without an ulterior motive?

"Thank you," Light murmurs, sitting up to take a sip of the sweet, warm milk, before his hesitation ranks his probability percentage of being Kira higher in L's eyes—which he thinks coincides with L's fancy and whim.

"You're welcome." L peers down into Light's eyes from his perched position above Light's head. Light stares into the bottomless, vacant tunnels that are L's eyes. He chokes slightly on the milk. At the close proximity, Light sees himself reflected L's eyes, imagining how L views him (as the Kira suspect).

"Yagami Light doesn't have a history of night terrors," L says in his normal monotone voice.

Light roughly presses the glass back into L's hand. Milk drips out of the cup and runs down L's hand as the detective adjusts to the unexpected gesture. The other shoe drops, so to speak, Light thinks. Of course L has an ulterior motive. Light doesn't know whether to be impressed by his foresight or concerned about how L knows about his former sleeping patterns.

"Excuse me?"

L taps his index finger against his lips. His eyes widen, making Light feel like he could drown in his irises. "I put cameras and wire taps in the Yagami household."

"What?" Light's hands curl into fists at his side.

L nods. "Yes, Yagami Sayu talks in her sleep, Yagami Sachiko lies on her side, facing the center of her bed, Yagami Soichiro sleeps facing his wife—he snores, and Yagami Light sleeps soundly, rarely moving in his sleep."

"Does my father know about this?" Light raises his voice.

"Mmm, yes," L says.

"And he let you record my family, my_ little sister_, sleeping?" Light says hotly. His face reddens; he feels angry on Sayu's behalf, though he considers the anger is misplaced (but very much warranted, he tells himself).

"Sleeping, eating, taking a bath, working on homework, completing chores, using the toilet—"

Light's fisted hand connects with L's nose, and the detective falls from his position on the bed to the floor, dragging the chain and, subsequently, Light with him. The glass of warm milk cracks against the wooden floor and shatters. Milk dribbles onto the floor. L lands on his feet, jerking a leg upwards, kicking Light in his face. Light crumples against the headboard. As he sits up, the pain in his head intensifies. He blinks once, then lunges for L, who dodges out of the way, letting Light bash his nose on the ground.

Light prepares to retaliate; L's laptop beeps and a video pops up in front of the documents L is studying. L turns to look. Watari appears on the screen as the video plays.

"Watari?" L questions. With L distracted, Light inspects the broken milk glass. He pockets a shard about the size of his pinky. Watari and L seem to have a conversation with their eyes. After a long moment, L glances back at Light.

"Watari wants us to sleep," his face twists in a grimace as he speaks and Light finds himself torn between risking L's wrath by laughing or, hell, showing any expression of amusement by Watari's parent-like discipline and wanting to use L's displeasure to his advantage by surprise attacking the detective.

L turns back to the screen and Light shakes his head, weary.

…

Light wakes the next morning to pain radiating through his nose. He reaches up to touch his sore nose with a finger, before wincing at the touch. He definitely has a bruise. He taps the bridge of his nose again and sucks in a strangled breath. It's not broken, thankfully. His head pounds with the intensity of fire crackers going off all at once as he sits up; Light grimaces, placing his head into his arms. He hisses as the bruise on his nose flares up in molten agony.

He glances across the bed at L, before startling and looking closer at the detective. L is asleep. His body faces away from Light's, curled into a ball. His thumb presses against his lips. After he comes to terms with the fact L is _sleeping_, as the insomniac detective usually collapses near his laptop every third night, Light contemplates how young L looks as he sleeps. Aside from the heavy bags lining his cheeks, L could pass for a teenager. Light wonders how old L is, but dismisses the thought as unimportant as snippets of late last night play in his mind.

Light, suddenly angry, remembering what L did to his sister and mother—Light didn't really care about himself, but to take advantage of his female family members that way (so he reassures himself in his justifiable anger)— jerks his cuffed arm towards a far off wall. He smirks as L is plunged backwards from his sleeping position. L immediately rouses, alert. He scowls at Light, then at his closed laptop.

Light watches L re-awaken his laptop, then curse in what Light assumes to be English. "Watari took me offline," he mumbles in response to Light's confused look.

Laughter bubbles in Light's throat, but is halted by L's murderous glare. The pounding in his head returns and Light groans.

"Here." L drops two aspirin into Light's hand.

"Thank you," Light says. He raises his eyebrows at L. Is this an apology?

"Watari said to." Ah. Light notices the broken glass and milk has been cleaned at some point in the night. Light swallows the pills dry, then, remembering the broken glass, he slips a hand into his pajama pants pocket. He runs a finger over the smooth glass shard.

…

A/N: I use the word "toilet" instead of "bathroom" because a "bathroom" in Japanese homes is just that, a bath-room, while the toilet is separate. My mind was blown when I learned that particular factoid. And it wasn't even that long ago…


	3. Explanations

Disclaimer: I definitely do not own Death Note. I wouldn't have the patience to draw the manga panels—I can't even force myself to create crude Sailor Moon doujinshi for my cousin.

A/N: Somehow I got the cute idea in my head to rewrite this whole chapter. Fun fun. Hope you guys enjoy!

…

Chapter 3: Explanations

"And you let him?" Light stares at his father, the man he idolizes, the man he wants to become one day. "Why, Dad?"

Soichiro pinches the bridge of his nose and slumps further into a couch seat as Light shovels more guilt on top of his own conscious. "I had no choice, son." As Soichiro gazes helplessly at his lap, Light realizes how much older his father looks: his hair has more gray streaks and the frown lines around his face have doubled since before their imprisonment. He looks up at Light, a spark of determination in his eyes transforms Soichiro's features; he looks ageless. "I know you aren't Kira. I knew it. But I had to prove it," he says.

Light blinks. His chest swells with some emotion. Sad, happy, proud, but he wants pain to blur it away. Light taps his own nose, fingers press into the bruise and he suppresses the urge to cry out.

Soichiro notices Light's pinched expression, the subtle squinting of eyes and slightly tightened lips, because he asks, "What happened to your nose?"

"Light-kun punched me; I kicked Light-kun." Bland, emotionless: L keeps his gaze on the computer screen in front of him as he speaks.

"Again, you two?" Aizawa asks from his spot on the other couch. He looks up from the papers he was designated to organize, gathering the attention of Matsuda and Mogi.

L and Light ignore him. "It's fine Dad, just bruised," Light placates his father.

…

The Kira investigation drags on for the rest of the day, in part because L ignores any new information regarding the Kira case. Rather L kneels on his chair, alternatively spinning in his chair and building lone solitary towers out of sugar cubes.

By late evening, the investigation headquarters empties. Light glances at L, who plays with his sweet dishes—only now he slowly, deliberately pours a steaming mug of green tea over a bowl of vanilla ice cream (which L previously sweetened with granulated white sugar). Light chooses to ignore the combination of sweets for his stomach's sake.

"Are you going to waken from nightmares again tonight?" L glances over at Light. Light jerks his head up at the sudden comment.

L sets his tea mug, now empty, on the table. "Especially since these nightmares are a new occurrence, and were not part of your life six months ago."

Light's stomach twists as L fixes him with a pointed look and noisily slurps his melted sugar/ice cream/tea combination. He sighs, "Ryuzaki, I don't want to talk about my dreams."

"Nightmares or night terrors, Light-kun."

Light waves a hand. Regardless. "I don't want to talk."

"Five percent." L swallows more of the green and white foamy liquid.

Light glares at L. He still remembers L's random percentages, L's random, _unfounded_ percentages.

L glances down at his hands, which he holds palms up slightly above his knees. He flicks a finger down against his palm in time with the second hand on Light's wrist watch, until all ten fingers are lowered.

"Seven percent."

Light jumps to his feet. "You can't accuse me of being Kira just because I don't want to talk about my private life!"

"No, I can't convict you of being Kira, but I _can_ accuse you all the same. Eight percent," L says in a way that Light realizes the conversation is over.

When Light wakes from nightmares that night, his hand is already under his sleeve, fingernails scratching his forearm even as the dream fades to reality. He sees L typing away on his laptop, momentarily ignorant. Light hastily removes his hand from his sleeve before the detective has an opportunity to notice. The pain wraps around his thoughts and he can focus on something besides the nightmares.

…

When Light awakens, opening his eyes to find himself starring into L obsidian eyes, he knows the day is going to plummet southward from there. He already feels the beginnings of a headache in his temples.

"What Ryuzaki," he breathes, pushing back the covers. L simply blinks before looking away, returning his attention to his computer screen.

"Are there any new murders?" Light asks whilst straightening his pajama sleeve so the fabric lies at his wrist. He tilts his head, eyes peering out the large window along the far wall. He hopes his expression remains neutral. He knows he isn't Kira, knows it with diamond precise clarity, but uncertainty still niggles in dusty recesses of his mind. He scrapes his fingernails across the back of his hand as he waits for L's reply.

"Yes," L clicks the laptop mouse multiple times minimizing a multitude of pages to reveal a list of recent criminal deaths, "five in Japan, and twelve worldwide." He glances at Light, and Light finds himself under L's scrutiny once again. He stops scratching the skin on his hand and slowly removes his other hand.

L narrows his eyes. Light throws himself into action, claiming the task force's imminent arrival as his excuse to get ready for the day. L merely nods, his face plastered into a neutral gaze, but Light sees the thought processes behind his flickering orbs.

…

L bites his thumbnail, the crack echoing throughout the main headquarters, as he kneels in his chair, hunched over his computer monitor. Soichiro glances up from the pile of criminal deaths he is attempting to sort.

"There's another death," L says around his thumb. He swivels in his chair to face the entire group. "I don't think is related to Kira."

Light stands up, stepping over the four inches of chain that separates him and L, and stares at the images on L's computer as Matsuda, Mogi, and Aizawa question the detective's statements. Soichiro sips at his coffee mug, contemplative. Tapping on the screen as he speaks, Light announces, "It was suicide."

"But Kira's killed with suicide before," Matsuda says, jumping up to get a closer look at the computer screen, accidentally brushing against Light's arm. Light exhales sharply as Matsuda careens against the scratches from the day before. The scratches don't actively hurt anymore, but the sudden weight of Matsuda makes the scratches sting, a dull ache, really, but unexpected.

His hiss catches L's attention; the detective openly stares at Light, letting his gaze slide down to his sleeved arm, then he rolls his eyes back to Matsuda—L's manner of shaking his head. He replies to Matsuda, "Yes, but this Kira seems to kill only with heart attacks. The first Kira killed in other ways as an experiment." He emphasizes 'first Kira' pointedly looking at Light, even as Soichiro glares at him.

"I'm not Kira," Light says automatically. He crosses his arms forming an unconscious barrier between L and the scratches.

L turns back around to face his computer and grasps his cup of tea. He unearths the stirring rod from the murky liquid, revealing it to be the end of a rock candy lolly. "So you say," he murmurs, licking the candy absentmindedly.

Light considers tugging his end of the chain, coercing L to follow him to the toilet so he can privately hurt himself, but the almost knowing look on the detective's face when Matsuda brushed against his arm, the perceptive, shadowed eyes, the slight tilt of his head, the absorbed expression as L glanced at his arm, halts his train of thought. He bites back a sigh and presses against the steadily fading bruise on his nose.

The pain is mediocre, hurting just enough to keep his expression flawless as L expounds on his theory about the third Kira, but not enough to wrench his thoughts from the jaded expression Soichiro throws L, the same look that twisted his features as he pulled a gun on Light and Misa a few weeks ago.

…

A/N: I actually made L's ice cream/green tea creation (sans added sugar) thinking it would have a unique flavor, like the dessert with espresso poured over ice cream, or that it would taste like green tea ice cream. It does not. It's actually really sickening.


	4. Accusations

Disclaimer: Yeah, I do not own Death Note. My twisting of the wonderful series is allowed by fair use, though.

A/N: Strangely enough, this little ficlet of mine is cannon compliant. Though, it's pretty easy to accomplish in the Yotsuba arc because there's a whole two months of inactivity (August 3 to September 30).

…

Chapter 4: Accusations

Misa announces Light's and L's entrance into her rooms one day in mid-September with a high pitched squeal, "Light!" followed by a sneer and a twisting of her lips, "Oh and Ryuzaki…" Light hides a grimace behind his emotionless façade at the lack of honorific on his name. Misa lunges at Light, who extends his arms as she falls against him.

"Misa missed you." Misa gazes into Light's eyes as she reaches her hands around Light's waist, enveloping him in a one-sided hug. L sits in his usual hunched position with a plate of cookies in hand.

"It's only been a week," Light placates her as he remembers the last disastrous visit which ended up in a bickering argument between him and L, just like all of the visits before that including the first. He smirks. Everything seems to end in disagreements with him and the detective.

"Would Misa-san like a cookie?" L offers, thrusting the plate in Misa and Light's direction. Misa settles down on the couch dragging Light by his injured arm to sit next to her. Aware of L's seemingly distracted, yet aware, countenance, Light ignores the stinging underneath Misa's fingers.

Misa leans forward, taking her arms off of Light's. He sucks in a pain-free breath. "I told you, sweets are fattening," Misa exclaims, exasperated.

L waves a chocolate chip cookie. He speaks around a mouthful of cookie, his words garbled. "You said cake was fattening," he reiterates.

Light grabs an oatmeal raisin cookie from the plate, before leaning into the couch cushions. He munches on the cookie while listening to Misa's enraged banter with L. "Cake, cookies, sweets are fattening."

"Not if you use your brain," L says, slowly enunciating each word.

Misa shrieks. "Don't make fun of me, you! You—"

"I'm bored," L says to Light, "why are we meeting Misa-san?"

"Because I'm his girlfriend," she says, leaning into Light.

Light gives L a mild look. "I told her I would visit," he says simply. L chews on another cookie, already bored with the conversation. Light tugs at the end of his sleeve as he entertains Misa's whims. He knows, logically, that Misa is important to him, but he can't quite remember why, so he allows this relationship with the somewhat dimwitted girl. His stomach twists uncomfortable. He wonders if he is using her—something he is readily against, but he knows there is something, some reason he chooses to associate with her.

After an hour passes, Light plucks himself off the couch and gives Misa parting goodbyes. He has spent enough time away from research, which he tells Misa as she whines for him to stay longer.

"I don't mind, Light-kun," L say with a nasty glint in his eyes, a glint that seems to say he is enjoying Light's and Misa's interaction, probably still deducing whether Light and Misa are the first and second Kiras. Not that L is actually contributing much to the investigation, what with being depressed that he isn't actually the first Kira. Light rolls his eyes, but otherwise doesn't respond to L.

"I do need to get back to the investigation," he grinds out between clenched teeth. "It's to prove us innocent." He stares into Misa's eyes, a steely gaze that implies there was actual physical proof of Misa being the second Kira.

Misa relents, "Come back soon." She gives L a dirty look. "Come without him," she emphasizes.

…

"Light-kun, you're arm," L says with a tone of finality after Soichiro, the last force member, heads home. Light looks away from his computer screen where he is comparing Kira related deaths to meet L's unflinching stare. Although L has yet to mention anything accusatory, Light bristles against cold shivers that spasm down his back.

"Yes," he replies while forcibly staring L dead in the eyes. "What about it?" He closes the files on his computer and sets his computer to protected mode for the night all the while his fingers shake as he clasps the mouse. All he can focus on are two onyx tunnels that bore into his eyes, searching for deeper meaning in the highlights and shadows of his pupils.

L is a world-renown detective. He fails considerably at comprehending human behavior and emotions, but he can logically reason through it, and Light knows this. Light inhales a shaky breath that sounds like a gasp even to his ears. His cheeks flush, the rising heat an indicator of the tell-tale reddening.

"You're cutting yourself." L's voice is completely monotone with no hint of childish impunity to break up the seriousness of the moment. Unlike what Light imagined his father's response would be, L's voice doesn't lighten; he doesn't whisper or shout the words. He just says, in his normal tone, the damning words.

Light automatically responds, "No, I'm not." Because he is not cutting himself. As he sits, facing L, he can feel the solidity of the glass shard in his designer jeans pocket. The tip presses into the fabric of his inner pocket, of his upper thigh. It itches as it rubs against the material, and Light wonders how it would feel to cut into his arm with it, how the glass would bite into his skin, and leaving red blood in its wake.

L leans forward, clasping his hands over his knees to peer more intently into Light's face. "You're not? So Light-kun is not hurt—" Whatever L was going to say is cut off by a low beep on the detective's computer. L clicks on his mouse once, opening a small white box with a few lines of text in English.

L says, "Watari wants to know if ramen is alright for dinner." Light nods as L types a reply to Watari. Light slouches into his chair, letting his head fall against the top of the chair as he glances at the ceiling. Slowly his heart rate returns to a steady beat, and the trembling in his hands halts. He sighs silently as L shuts down is computer for the night.

…

September bleeds closer to October with the blending of one week into another.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

The shot of the gun, of the blank, propels Light into alertness. "_We'll meet in hell_," Soichiro's words resonate in his head, echoing and vibrating, coursing through his veins as his heart pounds in his chest. He tries to breathe; without his volition, Light jams a hand up his sleeve, scratching desperately, clawing against inflamed skin. Anything, anything, anything to drown out his father's words, the image of the barrel of the gun cocked, aimed at him.

The nightmares plague him every night; every night repeats in an endless cycle. By now, Light has a routine. Wake from the awful memory, clutch at his chest, like a drowning man, try and fail to gasp for oxygen: when socially acceptable systems fail, he scratches at his arms, either arm, but usually Light finds himself tearing his skin raw with his dominant hand. When, finally, he can breathe again, he spends his allotted two minutes in the toilet, leaning against the sink, lips curled into a deranged smile as the burning-stinging wipes his mind clear from the repetitive maelstrom of thoughts. Then, in a peaceful reverie, Light lies awake on the bed, breathing even, eyes closed, the paradigm of a slumbering teenage boy.

He sports bags under his eyes similar to L's and the nails on his right hand are worn down from the nightly scratching sessions. L's not the only one questioning his behavior now, but Aizawa's and Matsuda's concerns are easy to brush off: I'm stressed; I want to solve this case; I need to prove my innocence; I'm fine. Soichiro and L, especially L, ask the same questions every day, questions Light wants to avoid.

Finally, tonight, like last night, and the night before, and the night before that, Light sucks in his first lungful of oxygen after the nightmares. He glances at L, expecting the detective to be absorbed in his laptop. L stares directly at him.

Light hastily removes his hand from his sleeve. Even in the dim glow from the laptop screen, Light sees the flecks of skin and blood underneath his nails. Before L can speak, Light mutters, "Toilet!"

L wordlessly, a silent acceptance to the routine, unhooks Light's handcuff, and Light bolts to the toilet and proceeds to vomit what had been his dinner. Only after he finishes vomiting, Light realizes L never uttered the two minute rule. Forehead sweaty and nose stuffed with vomit remnants, Light collapses against the opposite wall, and sinks to a boneless heap on the floor.

…

A/ N: Does just shy of 1500 words make up for the cliffhanger?


	5. Realization

Disclaimer: If I owned Death Note, the series wouldn't have been half as good.

A/N: This was the hardest chapter to write. I spent the last couple days angst-ing about it. Finally I wrote it all at once. Since it's actually done early, I won't drag out the cliffhanger. Enjoy!

…

Chapter 5: Realization

Light slumps against the wall, still shaking from vomiting. He reaches into his pajama pocket, fingers grasping at the little pinky-size glass shard. Since he pocketed the shard weeks ago, Light has been careful to place the shard in the front pocket of the pants he intends to wear on a given day. He grimaces as he stares into the glass shard. Instinctively, he knows what he's planning will only compound, splattering into a host of unexplainable consequences, but right now, as he grips the shard, his mind comes to a screeching halt in the here-and-now.

His chest burns; he struggles to inhale. Light sees his distorted reflection in the shard of glass, the image blurring as he tries to focus. He rolls up his left sleeve. The scratches on this arm are plentiful. The newest are painful, scratched raw; shredded flecks of skin and small dots of blood line his skin criss-crossing. The oldest have faded to tiny silver and white scars, almost indiscernible on his pale skin. Light's fingers tremble as he guides the glass shard to a less marked up patch of skin. He tells himself the trembling is an after effect of sicking up, that it is not related to the churning anxiety manifesting in his head.

He rests the crook of his arm on top of his folded knees to gain leverage as he drags the piece of glass across the skin of his arm. His thoughts quiet to the mental version of a murmur by the sudden explosion of pain. Light imagines the searing, liquidly pain is accompanied with bright red droplets of blood that puddle along the cut, then dribble to the tiled floor.

When the haze of pain finally lifts, he spares a quick glance at the laceration on his arm, only to recoil at the lack of poetic blood splatters. Rather the cut is more similar to his scratches, only without little chunks of dead skin. Three needle point sized droplets of blood squeeze out of the already healing cut. His insides lurch and churn and he thinks he might throw up again. White hot rage snaps at his twisted insides. He lets his arm fall from his knees to let his hand smack against the tiles. Pain nips at his knuckles.

Light glares at the pithy scratch, raising his arm back up. He presses the glass shard into the upper part of his forearm, knuckles bruising the skin as the glass cuts into skin, then he slashes his hand back. There's pain, more pain, pain again. And finally: there is blood. Light exhales and everything, the nightmares, the Kira investigation, the look of pity/disbelief/reproach in the task force members' faces, the dead eyes of his father, L's omniscient wide gray eyes, seeps away, trickling to the side of his arm in a thin red line.

Back pressed alongside the wall, buttocks numb from sitting on the cold, hard floor, knees aching against the strain of the awkward position, fingers cramping from tightly grasping the glass shard, and the sizzling searing on his arm, Light could stay like this for a long, long time.

…

A knock interrupts the pleasant silence. L's voice slides through a crack in the door, "Light-kun?"

Light holds his breath, as if the act will prevent L from providing his own conclusions. Another knock, Light exhales out his nose, a sound alike a snort. So much for ignoring the detective. Light pulls himself up from the floor, grasping at the rim of the sink. Before L's goodwill shatters and he simply opens the door, Light cleans the drying blood off his arm and shrugs his shirt sleeve down to his wrist.

He exits the toilet, eyes downcast refusing to meet L's gaze. Silently, he flops down on the bed and pulls the cover up to his chin resolutely ignoring L.

…

L, however, doesn't ignore him, and Light wakes the next morning staring into L's sunlit eyes.

"I didn't think Light-kun would do that," L thinks aloud, his words muffled around his thumbnail, which he chews on. L looks down at Light in his typical kneeling stance. "Light-kun doesn't have a history of self injurious behavior."

L hunches back on his ankles, balancing his weight on his toes as Light sits up. His arm stings underneath his pajama sleeve and blood has caked onto the sleeve and he knows L knows. His head pounds because he cannot _just_ operate under emotional strain, but physical nuisances _as well_. Light drops his head into a hand. His sleeve slips back, revealing the reddened scratches for the first time in natural sunlight. He reaches around to wrench the sleeve up past his wrist, but stops halfway as the realization that L knows crashes against him. His head spins in dizzying circles, going nowhere, nothing processing.

He can't think; he can't devise any intricate plan to get out of this; he doesn't know what to say—how to act to make L forget: he feels a scream welling up in his throat. His hands smack against his face. Fingers press into his scalp; fingernails scratch into the skin. His chest tightens and his eyes burn, and no matter how hard or how furiously he attacks his forehead, he can't do anything. He hears a low scream in the distance, before realizing that it is him.

Then, something grasps at his wrists, pulling his hands from his head. A low voice, "A miscalculation on my part. I should apologize for what you were forced to cope with."

Light blinks. L's grip on his wrists is unyielding. His arms feel like rubber under the detective's hold. He bites at his tongue in the privacy of his mouth replacing one sensation with another. His heart pounds in his chest as L continues to speak at him, rather than to him. "I had no other option, I suppose, but this…" L runs a finger on the exposed scratches and down further, using his index finger to separate the bloodied sleeve from the newest mark.

Light winces at the sudden reopening of the cut and L responds by rubbing the wound with the back of his hand—a balm for the pain. He curls his other hand against the metal chaining the two together and pulls, leaning on the balls of his feet. Surprised, Light wrenches himself backwards, falling back on the bed. The sudden jerking throws L off balance and the detective falls forward.

A phone rings, disturbing the mostly silence of the room. L reaches out with one hand, without moving from his present position, to pick up the receiver. With index finger and thumb, he holds the phone against his ear until a strangled voice mumbles something incomprehensible. L quirks an eyebrow, glancing down at the bed and Light. A coy smile illuminates his face.

Light tosses L a confused look. Eyebrows rise when L places a gentle hand on his exposed forearm and leans forward so their faces almost touch. Light lay flat on the bed except for his knees which were slightly raised, legs parted. L burrows deeper into the bed; his stomach presses against Light's. Suddenly, his brain sparks to life as the evidence falls together. And he shoves L off of him, rolling to the other side of the bed. His face feels hot and he imagines his cheeks are red.

…

L rubs at the back of his head as he slouches behind Light on their way to the investigation headquarters. "A thank you will suffice," he says.

"Excuse me?" Light toys with the buttons on his outer shirt. He rewards the carpeted floor with a poisonous look.

"Your secret is safe." As he speaks, L grabs Light's arm, giving his forearm a harder-than-necessary squeeze. Light hisses at the sudden pain, lifting his glare to meet L.

"Now my father thinks I have _a_ secret," he mutters, wrenching his arm out of L's hand.

…

A/N: I imagine L's 'coy smile' to be similar to his smirk in the theater scene of the Death Note rewrite: youtube (dot) com (slash) watch?v=dTBq9piU8CY

Giggles.


	6. Release

Disclaimer: Ah, I seriously don't own Death Note. I *do* own two Death Note (read: L) sweatbands. I found them while cleaning. Yay!

A/N: Carla: Since you left an anonymous review, I just wanted to thank you for your comment. ^_^

Sorry for the late update. I had to be a motivated college student… I have over 1100 hits! How awesome! Thanks for reading, fav-ing, reviewing, and all that guys!

…

Chapter 6: Release

"Would Light-kun like to accompany me?" Light glances up from a stack of research papers he attempts to sort (mostly to counter the significant lack of participation on L's part). Immediately his heart starts racing as last night's memories swim to the forefront of his thoughts. He notices a grin spreading on L's face akin to a mischievous predator. Light hears his father choke on the last dredges of his coffee.

"No thank you, Ryuzaki," he says with as much dignity as he can muster with L's strategically placed hand upon his thigh and the red surely staining his cheeks.

The chain between the two clinks in protest as L jumps from his seat and begins to walk away from the computer screens, forcing Light to trail after him. "Now wait just one minute," Soichiro is on his feet before Light and L turn to face him. He slams his coffee mug against the table.

The remaining members of the task force glance up from the mindless busy work L had assigned them. "What you're doing is unnatural!" Light isn't certain to whom Soichiro is referring to, but the sound of disapproval in his father's voice makes his breath hitch.

"Dad, it's not like that," Light begins in what he hopes is a steady, convincing manner. L's mannerisms ruin his idealistic performance, from swirling his tongue around his thumb and impatient-like tugs at the chain. "I am seeing Misa."

L lets the chain fall from his grasp and he gives Soichiro a sharp glance. His eyes glint with an emotion Light has never seen on the detective before. It has a profound effect on his facial features, hardening his normally playful caricature and aging the detective.

"That is not the issue." L marches out of the room, dragging Light with him, but not before Light hears snippets of questions from the investigation team members.

"What's not the issue, huh Chief?" Matsuda, thinks Light darkly. Just what he needs on top of everything else. Not that he has forgotten about the other events that transpired last night. The door closes behind Light and L, and Soichiro's response is silenced.

L runs a hand through his hair while muttering in English. Light strains to make out the words spoken with a deep accent. L's monologue comes out in a jumbled, chaotic mess. Light is nearly fluent in English, but with the accent (which he presumes is not actually an accent, but the proper tone of a native English speaker) and the odd arrangement of sentence structure, Light is unable to deduce more than the basic point behind the rant.

"Are you upset on my behalf?" Light asks in Japanese. He enunciates each syllable slowly, disbelief drawing out the question.

L's facial expression softens and he pauses mid-stride. Light's use of Japanese, his native tongue, seems to jar L out of his funk with the realization that he is in Japan and speaking with a Japanese teenager. "Shouldn't I be?"

Light recoils. "What?"

"I forget how contemporary society veils alternative attractions," L says in the way of explanation. He continues to lead Light to an undisclosed location, which becomes apparent as they pass an entrance to the main toilet and the makeshift kitchen used by the task force.

Light chooses not to speak as L's words contradict everything he has learned in his eighteen years. He jerks to a stop besides L when he realizes the detective has also paused. Light finds himself in a small room, filled with an assortment of electronics and a main computer monitor displaying the familiar gothic letter 'L'. Watari averts his gaze from the screen and swivels in his seat to face L and Light.

"Something wrong?" Watari glances at L, then Light. The older man and detective exchange looks conversing silently, making Light feel as if bugs were crawling along his arms. "Yes, of course," Watari says, completing their non-verbal conversation as if they had been speaking aloud the entire time.

Watari produces a small white box emblazoned with a nondescript emergency cross. Light feels a chill tingle down the back of his neck. "Roll up your sleeves," L says, his voice is calm, bordering on cool.

"Ryuzaki, I can do this myself," Light says after a moment's hesitation. Surely, since Watari is prepared, the older man obviously was informed about the situation, but Light, for some reason, doesn't want to reveal this private act. He scratches the back of his head and L's ears perk.

Before Light can react, L grabs Light's non-dominant wrist and pulls up his sleeve for him. "Ryuzaki!" Light splutters, unable to formulate a defense.

L calmly holds out his exposed arm, tugging it a bit closer to Watari as if to prove a point.

…

"Thank you, Watari," L says after Watari finishes bandaging Light's arms with gauze.

"Thank you very much, Watari-san." Light's stomach churned and his mind spat angry retorts, but a lifetime of practiced decorum, brought the humble words to his lips along with a slight bow of respect. Inside, Light seethes. Under the layers of gauze and anti-bacterial cream, he can no longer feel the results of his scratching or solitary cut. As they exit from the dim room into the brightly lit hallway, Light's fingernails scratch at the back of his other hand.

"You need to stop Light-kun," L says, immediately taking notice of Light's actions.

Light chooses not to respond. He wallows in the stinging near his knuckle.

"Yagami-san has noticed a difference in Light-kun." Anger boils in Light's gut. He cracks his knuckles for another flicker of pain. "Even Matsuda-san has noticed."

Light says nothing; he levels his gaze in the direction of the investigation headquarters. L exhales a long sigh, glancing at Light from the corner of his eye. "Yagami-san will have to be informed," he says at last.

Panic intertwines with rage, boiling under Light's calm façade. Before he realizes what has happened, his fist implants with L's nose. L freezes, trembling as he absorbs the attack. Taking advantage of L's disoriented confusion, Light grabs L's shirt, bunching the fabric in his fist.

"You can't do that!" His calm exterior shatters, spittle forms around his lips as he yells in blind fury. "I am a university student!"

"You are a child," L says, a touch of anger frosts his words as he pushes Light back, effectively pulling Light's hands off his throat. He rams Light against the wall with a forward elbow strike. A sardonic grin twists his face as he leans in at his full height. "The age of majority is twenty in Japan."

Light wrenches at L's wrist, unpinning himself, and the detective stumbles, almost tripping, at the sudden defensive maneuver. L massages his wrist as he spins around on the ball of a foot. Facing Light, eyes to eyes, he says, "You are a scared child who needs to—open up—and realize—he—has—a problem!" His speech is broken as Light continues to send punches his way. L reacts with defensive strategies, dodging and attempting to slow down Light's advances.

"I am fine, Ryuzaki!" Light emphasizes, throwing a few more errant punches. His vision blurs at the edges and he feels something warm prickle at the corner of his eyes.

"I apologize for the strain I put you under," L says, suddenly. Light blinks and the warm liquid dribbles a pathway down his cheek. L's hands are at his chest now, pinning him against the hallway wall. Light sees L's eyes widen further through his blurred vision; he hears the almost inaudible gasp that parts L's mouth into a round O. He tries to get out of L's grasp as another tear slips out of his eyes and rolls down his cheek, instead his knees buckles and he and L slide to their knees on the floor.

"I know it can't be easy for you, Light-kun, but I had to," L says, but Light barely hears him through the undignified sniffles that wrack his body.


	7. New Beginning

Disclaimer: Death Note is not mine. I struggle too much drawing L for the manga to belong to me. ^_^

…

Chapter 7: New Beginning

After a while the sobs still and the tears stop, and Light is able to pull his head away from the crook between L's shoulder and neck. He flushes at the droplets turning L's shirt translucent.

L hides behind a mask of indifference as he waits for Light to speak. Light extricates himself out of the tangled legs and arms of their current position. "Sorry," he mutters.

L waves a hand dismissively He follows Light's lead and stands also. "This hallway won't be picked up by the cameras in headquarters. It is Watari's private quarters." The admission loosens some of the anxiety clenched in Light's chest. He nods, his gaze sliding from one end of the hall to the other. He calculates how much of this must have been fore planned, but his head feels too small, like an over-inflated balloon stretching against his skull. He tries to sniff away some of the congestion built up like cobwebs in his nose.

"Are you ready to talk?" L presses his pinky to his lips, biting down and tearing part of the nail from his fingernail. When Light says nothing, L continues speaking, voice distorted by his chewing of his fingernails—pinky, ring finger, middle, pointer and thumb. "Light-kun suffers emotional trauma from what Light-kun sees as an unfair confinement and subsequent faux murder attempt by his loved and respected father.

"Light-kun controls the symptoms with endorphins by harming himself." A pause. Light can only gape at L. The detective is spot on, even deducing thoughts Light would never utter aloud. Logically, the pieces fit. However, this isn't a logic game, and Light feels acid rising in his throat at L's explanations.

L bends his knees slightly, shrugging his body weight closer to the ground so he is looking up at Light. Light imagines if they were sitting, L would be perched on his toes. "Light-kun's self injury is progressing."

"What do you mean, Ryuzaki," Light smiles, a charming smile he uses with Misa to placate her crush on him. His stature rises and confidence smoothes his features. "It's just one—"

L whips around, pulling at the chain. Light stumbles forward before righting himself. "One cut, Light-kun." He shoves a finger at Light, pressing the digit into the soft skin of his cheek along a tear track. "One cut after weeks of scratches."

It was as if a light bulb suddenly flickered to life in L's head. The detective retracts his finger, placing his hand against Light's covered arm. "Scratches that started when Light-kun accidently cut himself." Then the light fades, leaving L's face ashen, dead. He speaks in a normal manner, using word choices that sound odd coming from him, "You've been doing this since early last month, and I didn't notice?"

Light wonders briefly if he should confirm L's suspicions, but the look on L's face—the suddenly exhausted appearance proves he already knows.

…

"Talk," Light chokes as L shoves him on a plush couch the next day in one of the rooms in Watari's quarters. He stares into the confused face of Matsuda.

"Excuse me, Ryuzaki. What are—" L whips his head around to face Matsuda.

"Be quiet, Matsuda-san," he murmurs. Once Light relaxes back into the couch, crossing his legs, L also sits, cross-legged. Matsuda and Light glance at him; L sighs. "This doesn't require high deductive reasoning," he offers as an explanation.

"Matsuda-san, Light-kun wants to talk to you—" Light snaps his head up to meet L's face.

"I do?" he asks, mentally conveying his horror and disbelief at L's unconventional approach to therapy—or at least, he assumes this is supposed to be therapy.

"You do," L replies, shrugging his shoulders, silently alerting Light that he has the option of revealing less savory aspects of Light's affliction. Light bites back a sigh, teeth sinking into his cheek. When the pain soothes his tensions about this meeting, Light opens his eyes to see L crouching inside his personal space. He stares into L's eyes, recognizing the alertness, the anger, the promise to reveal his self injury all within the gray orbs.

After a long moment, he begins to speak to Matsuda, going through typical pleasantries, until the subject of Kira breaches the conversation, then Light reveals the fake execution. Light speaks all he can about that evening, gaining momentum as the words tumble out in a cathartic divulgence of information and painful memories, feeling his heart lighten.

When Matsuda jumps up and shakes L, Light realizes he does feel slightly better finally admitting to his nightmares.

"What were you thinking, Ryuzaki?" Matsuda yells while shaking L. Matsuda drops his hands from the tops of L's shoulders to his upper chest, twisting the fabric of the detective's white shirt between his fingers. L slaps away Matsuda's hands, curling in himself on the other side of the couch.

"Matsuda-san, Ryuzaki's action are justified," Light says in immediate defense of L. He feels pity for the older man, as L further hunches in upon himself.

"But, Light-kun, he detained you even after the killings had started again—" Matsuda steps back from L.

L reacts by digging his fingers into the wrinkles of his pants, trembling slightly; Light's eyes widen as he sees L's fingernails claw against the jeans around his ankles. "He already apologized." Light gazes at Matsuda, resolutely looking away from L.

…

"Ryuzaki," Light speaks whilst typing notes into a computer document. "I know you're not feeling up to it, but come over here for a second."

L glances over at Light, before, reluctantly pulling himself out of his chair where he had been facing away from the computer screens, eyes glazed over in thought.

"Take a close look at this," Light continues; still staring intently into his own computer screen, ignoring that L's stare came to rest on his covered arm, before also facing the computer screen filled with charts and figures about Yotsuba's finances. "It can't be coincidence."

L smiles widely. The grin stretches his across his face with childlike impudence. He peers into Light's computer screen, resting a hand on Light's shoulder to support his body weight as he memorizes the facts and data. Light stiffens, then relaxes into L's hand on his shoulder noting the detective's downright euphoric impish grin.

This is the first time L has smiled in two weeks.

…

Later that night, after the task force headquarters empties out and dusk falls, Light unearths the glass shard from the front of his khaki pants pocket and hands it to L as a closed fist. L holds out his own hand, widening his eyes and tilting his head, and Light slowly curls his fingers back, revealing the shard. L's face lights in recognition.

L plucks the shard out of Light's hand by index finger and thumb, holding it above his face, inspecting, even as slivers of light dance along the jagged edges.

"Light," he says aloud after a long moment, dropping the honorific as he breathes Light's name out, pronouncing it in English, accentuating the final consonant (Layht), rather down the vowel. "Thank you, Light-kun," L finishes in Japanese, mind providing information on his location even as he is stunned by Light's confession, admission.

…

As he holds Higuchi's Death Note in hand, while jamming a needle into the tender flesh of his thumb to write down Higuchi's name on the scrap of paper from the Death Note hidden in his watch, Light tells himself the pain, the blood, is just part of the plan—not wonderful, calming…

_finis_

…

A/N: Did you notice it?


End file.
